Happiness
by SeveRemus
Summary: Reespective Rinch story set after Ep. 1.22 "No Good Deed". Reese offers to cook lunch at his new apartment for Finch after finding out about Grace. Rated M for smut in later chapters. MM slash so don't like, don't read.
1. Chapter 1

Happiness

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A/N: After Episode 1.22 "No Good Deed"; Reespective; smut to come later.

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Reese paused for a long moment after Finch explained to him how he was "Patient Zero" of a contagion, referring to the knowledge of the Machine which the government was trying to annihilate. He quickly caught up to the other man, having the benefit of longer legs and uninjured (for the moment), but he then walked beside him in silence for a while. After all, what could he say? He had already said the standard response when a concerned third party heard of a tragedy: "I'm sorry." Those two words were utterly inadequate, and yet Reese knew from his own experience that even a torrent of the most eloquent words would only have the same effect. Finch seemed to appreciate his reticence; at least he did not try to lose him in the crowd. They continued walking together in commiserating, if not companionable, silence.

Reese wondered if perhaps Finch had deliberately allowed him to find Grace – to discover that Finch, too, had given up the woman he loved in order to protect her, showing how much the two of them had in common – but discarded that thought as his own wishful thinking. He had tracked down the address by good, old-fashioned detective work, with the dogged determination that had made him so good as an operative; the fact that Finch seemed unamazed and unirritated by his showing up on Grace's doorstep was no doubt due to his growing familiarity with Reese. After revealing how much he knew about Reese's past regarding Jessica, Finch could hardly be angry at him for learning of Finch's own past regarding Grace. He was probably resigned by now to Reese's snooping as well. That was all.

Reese felt the same surge of pain in his chest that he had felt upon hearing Grace recount her first meeting with "Harold"; the same hollow, gnawing ache that had radiated throughout his body like a cancer when he had heard Finch mention his four years of "happiness." It had nothing to do with his own loss of Jessica, even less with the attractive redhead who had once been Finch's fiancée. It had everything to do with how finished, defeated, and resigned Finch had sounded when he claimed to have been one of the lucky ones – as though all that happiness were permanently and irretrievably in the past, never to be found (even in another object) again. It cut deeper into Reese's as-yet-unhealed heart than he cared to admit.

But he had to admit – at least to himself – that _he_ wanted to make Finch (or whatever his real name was) happy. That he wished they could have had a more auspicious first meeting, or that he had responded better to Finch's initial offer. That Finch might one day grow to care about him with every fiber of his being, to the point that he valued their relationship more than his own life – for Reese had been listening to his employer's conversation with Peck, even while he had (as Finch's good little "associate") dealt with the team of assassins. He had been too busy fighting them off at the time, taking them out one by one, to fully process the impact of Finch's statement; now he allowed himself to experience the pain head-on. He would not wallow in it, but he would not deny it or avoid it, either. He was in love with Finch, and was jealous of the relationship that Grace had had with him. It hurt to know that he still loved her; Reese wasn't sure if knowing that she was still in love with "Harold" – and still grieving for him – made him feel better or worse. Just guilty, he decided, about begrudging her the past that she had shared with Finch, when he, at least, knew that Finch was alive, and was able to spend most of his time with him – something Grace would undoubtedly give anything to experience again.

Reese's lips turned up in a mirthless smirk. If she knew, she would envy what he had now, just as much as he envied what she had had. He stole a glance at the unassuming man limping along next to him. Well, at least he had Finch _now_. Even if Finch considered his own happiness a thing of the past, Reese didn't have to accept it as gospel truth.

"Harold," he began, his soft voice gentler than usual, "do you have plans for lunch?"

"Plans?" Finch echoed, uncertainly. "No... not particularly. Why do you ask?"

Reese shrugged, trying to make it seem like no big deal. "I just thought I could make something for the two of us, now that I have a real kitchen. Plus you haven't come by yet to see what I've done to the place."

Finch stopped walking altogether to look Reese in the face.

"You can cook?" he asked in an incredulous tone.

Reese allowed himself to look hurt.

"I'm a little rusty, but I'll have you know, I've never killed anyone with my cooking."

"Well... that's a relief. Coming from you."

Finch attempted a half-hearted smile at his own jibe.

"It may be good for you to get your nose out of your books for a change – get some more 'human interaction'," Reese added blithely.

"Uh... All right... Can I bring anything?"

"Just yourself. Unless you want a really good wine to drink... You know my tastes in alcohol aren't exactly... erudite."

"Ah. Well, what are you cooking?"

"What would you like? I can do beef, pork, chicken, fish... I basically cook them all the same way."

Finch grimaced for a fleeting second before realizing that Reese was only kidding.

"I'll leave it up to you, Mr. Reese, as I have no preference at the moment."

"All right... beef."

"Red wine, then. I have a rather nice Merlot that would fit the bill nicely."

Reese nodded and checked his watch.

"I'd better get cooking, then. See you at noon."

"Yes... Oh, and Mr. Reese..."

Reese stopped to look back at him.

"Don't fuss on my account," Finch said.

"I won't," Reese assured him, then strode over to the sidewalk to hail a cab.


	2. Chapter 2

Happiness

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A/N: "Reespective" = "Reese's introspective perspective" ;)

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Reese shopped like a whirlwind at a bodega in Little Italy four blocks from his apartment, knowing that by the time he got home he would have less than an hour until noon. It took him a few minutes longer than usual to find what he wanted since he had only scoped out the place from the outside once before, but he managed to pick out a pair of nice sirloin cuts and some decent-looking vegetables. As Finch had said, he didn't plan to "fuss," so he was confident that he could finish his preparations by the time his guest arrived. In a fit of optimism, he made a few impulse purchases as well, then walked briskly back to his apartment with a paper grocery sack in each arm.

He had only been teasing Finch when he'd said he cooked everything the same way, but given his current time constraint, he knew that he couldn't do anything fancy. He scrubbed a few potatoes before wrapping them in tinfoil and tossing them into the oven, then set the table while he let the carrots and asparagus boil in separate pots. Reese had been rather startled to find a complete set of cookware in the kitchen cupboards, initially thinking that he would only ever use one or two of them, but now he was glad to have the many different sizes of pots and pans. The tableware and flatware Finch had also provided for him were simple but of good quality. He'd even found matching linens in one drawer, which he set out on the table to use for the first time.

After draining the asparagus, he sautéed garlic (he'd bought a jar of it already minced), a whole chopped onion, and fresh basil in a skillet with butter and salt. Once the mixture was nicely browned, he poured it into a saucepan, replaced it with another generous dollop of butter, and set the salt-and-peppered steaks in the skillet. The bubbling butter seared the surface of the meat, locking in its juices and flavor. He let that cook while he put some cream and lemon juice into the saucepan, tasting it and adding more salt, then making a mixture of water and corn starch to pour into the boiling brew, thickening it into a sauce. He poked at the carrots with a fork and decided that they were done, too; as he was draining them, there was a knock on the door.

"Come on in," he yelled since his hands were full. Finch walked in, somewhat surprised that Reese had left the door unlocked.

"I came a bit early – can I help with anything?" Finch asked, setting his promised bottle of wine on the table.

"Uh... You could put the sour cream in that dish there," Reese directed as he transferred the steaming carrots into a serving bowl. "And you know where the corkscrew is."

"Okay. Something smells de..."

Finch trailed off, staring at Reese.

"You like my new apron?" Reese asked, his voice slightly lilting as he grinned. His apron had been one of his impulse purchases; it read, "Kiss the Cook".

"Very fetching," Finch finally managed after swallowing.

"Thank you," Reese replied demurely before carrying the carrots and asparagus to the table, returning to the stove with the plates. "Actually, the steaks are already done, so your timing is perfect. Let's see... I need something to put the sauce in... I don't think there's a gravy bowl, but this one should work..."

Watching him deftly pour the thick sauce into a soup bowl, Finch murmured, "I had no idea you were so... so..."

"Handsome? Charming? Delicious?" Reese suggested, jumping in when Finch paused for a moment.

"_Domestic_," he corrected. "I'm sure the _food_ is delicious, so we won't need to resort to cannibalism."

Reese only smiled as he plated the steaks and pulled the baked potatoes out of the oven with a mitt. Stabbing the largest one with a fork, he was satisfied that it was done. As Reese walked over with the plates, Finch uncorked the wine with a soft _pop_ and poured it.

"Looks good enough to eat, but of course, looks can be deceiving..." Reese joked, taking off the apron before sitting down. Finch joined him and raised his glass.

"To good food and good friends," Finch offered.

"I'll drink to that," Reese agreed.

The wine was American – not very strong, Reese noted, surmising that Finch had chosen it for that very reason since it was still the middle of the day – and complemented the food perfectly. After taking his first bite of the steak, Finch set down his fork and knife, waiting until he had chewed, savored, and swallowed his mouthful before speaking.

"This is delicious, Mr. Reese. I had no idea you were so talented in the kitchen. Perhaps you had missed your calling."

"Why, thank you, Mr. Finch," Reese smiled, spooning some sour cream onto his baked potato. "But actually, I learned how to cook _after_ I joined the CIA. When I was stationed in that border town in Switzerland, they put me up in a little mom-and-pop hostel. On my off days, I helped them with some chores. I'd done KP duty plenty of times in the Army, so I figured I knew my way around a kitchen, but the lady there told me in no uncertain terms that my American style of cooking wasn't up to snuff. This sauce is one of her time-honored recipes."

"It's simply fabulous... light and creamy at the same time. I must say, if our situation becomes too 'hot,' as they say, to continue our operations, I could set up a new identity for you as a _rôtisseur_. No one would be the wiser."

"You're too kind," Reese responded, but he knew Finch meant it, and it warmed his cockles. He got up once to retrieve the saucepan, saying, "No point in leaving just a little bit," and Finch gladly took his share of the sauce to put on both the meat and the asparagus. When they were done, only one baked potato remained.

"I have to admit, I cheated on dessert," Reese said apologetically, but Finch's eyes grew wide.

"There's dessert, too?"

"It's just Marie Callender's frozen pies... Would you like Lemon Meringue or Key Lime? Or both."

"Ah... I think a small slice of Key Lime Pie is all I can handle right now."

"Coming right up," Reese grinned.


	3. Chapter 3

Happiness

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Reese had found a tea strainer and a tin of real tea at the store, so he put the kettle on while he served up dessert, then poured tea for both of them.

"I prefer coffee in the morning," he explained to Finch, who had also gotten up to stretch and walk about. "I need the caffeine to get going."

"Which is why I like _sencha_," Finch confessed. "Some green teas have more caffeine than coffee."

"I'll have to try some then," Reese said, carrying their mugs to the table as Finch followed with the plates of pie.

"First doughnuts, now cream pie... If my waistcoat starts popping buttons, I'm holding you accountable, Mr. Reese," Finch warned, although he was contentedly eating his dessert.

"I'll just have to make sure you get enough exercise to work off those pesky calories, now won't I?" Reese countered with a Cheshire Cat smile. "We could go for a walk in the park afterwards."

"Oh, yes – I noticed there's a park over there," Finch said, nodding at the windows. "I'd wondered what attraction this area held for you... As you've no doubt guessed already, I checked for any locations where your cell phone signal tended to go on your days off before I bought this building. When I came to let the delivery men in, I noticed the view."

"You bought this whole building?"

"Well, yes. No sense renting the apartment when I can purchase the entire property and – with some minor oversight of the management – reap a profit. So you see, you needn't feel like it's an imposition in any way; I'm always on the lookout for older buildings with good structure and classic architecture."

"I'm glad to hear that. Here I was thinking you were shelling out an exorbitant amount of money for all of this space, when an apartment half the size would have been sufficient."

Finch pulled a slight grimace before answering, "I realize that those postage-stamp-sized rooms you've been renting are _adequate_, John, but I am not the U.S. Army – nor am I your jailer. And while I hesitated at first in giving you this particular room, thinking that you might object to the amount and size of the windows, I felt that a more... open space, with a view of some greenery, might help you relax on your days off. God knows you're in tight spots often enough."

"Both literally and figuratively," Reese nodded. "I appreciate the thought, Harold... and the windows don't bother me at all. If anyone tries to shoot me through them, I'll have just as good a view of them, too."

Finch set down his mug without having taken the sip he had intended. "Well... let's just hope it never comes to that."

Reese smiled, his eyes seeming to cast their own light. "Yes, let's. Would you like to move to the couch? I'll get the dishes."

While Finch stood up again and hobbled, a little stiffly, over to the sectional, Reese stacked the plates and put them in the sink, letting them soak in dishwater.

"You said I should come to see what you'd done with the place," Finch called over his shoulder when Reese turned off the faucet, "but all you did was move these to face the window."

"I adjusted those lights," Reese mildly objected, pointing to the lampstand by the desk. Finch's lips quirked in amusement as he looked out over the park.

"Would you like some drapes to close off the windows? I can recommend a place – they do very nice work, very discreet..."

Reese came up behind him and shrugged. "No need. I like feeling the sun come up by the change in the light. It's easy to forget the rhythm of nature in a big city like this, so it's good to be in touch as much as possible."

Finch inclined his head in acknowledgment. Two children playing in the park had caught his attention, so he didn't notice how close Reese was standing to him until he felt the taller man's hand wrap around his elbow.

"Would you like to go out now?" Reese asked, his breath tickling the hairs on Finch's neck.

"Ah... Um..." Finch hedged, startled by their proximity. "Perhaps... a little later."

"Okay. I can make some more tea, or we could finish the wine."

"I'm afraid I couldn't fit in another drop at the moment – but thank you," Finch replied, trying hard not to shake off Reese's hand, which was what he instinctively wanted to do.

"Would you like to sit down?" Reese asked. If he were aware of how uncomfortable he was making Finch, he didn't show it. "This couch is quite comfortable."

"Ah... yes. I hoped you would like it," Finch said while turning to look at it, thereby breaking Reese's contact with his arm.

"You picked it out for me yourself?" Reese asked with unfeigned delight.

"Yes... I did. I wanted to make sure it was comfortable as well as... well-built."

"I love it – I sit here and listen to the radio every night when I'm not working a case," Reese told him, sitting down as though demonstrating how he settled in for his routine. "Sometimes you can even see the stars through the windows."

"Really? I wouldn't have thought that possible, what with all the light pollution," Finch responded, sitting down somewhat more awkwardly, although he was relieved to put a bit of distance between them. Reese's arm, however, was resting on the back of the couch, his hand mere inches from Finch's fused vertebrae.

"The best time is early in the morning – four or five o'clock," Reese said, fighting the urge to stroke the other man's neck. He knew that touching Finch in such a sensitive spot would be sure to send him bolting for the door. "After all the smog from the day before has dissipated."

"Yes... I suppose it would be," Finch murmured in agreement. They then lapsed into silence, which Reese allowed to continue for a bit longer than was comfortable for the other man.

"She still misses you, you know," he said quietly. As much as it pained him, it was his opening gambit.


	4. Chapter 4

Happiness

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"I know," Finch answered, his tone calm and even, as though he had come to terms with his fate a long time ago. "Believe me, Mr. Reese, I know..."

Reese ached to hear the unspoken answer to his unasked question: _"Do you miss her?" "Yes – just like she misses me..."_

Finch continued to stare at the green tops of the trees just visible at the bottom of the windows, his expression schooled blank. Reese leaned slightly closer to him before whispering his next words.

"At least she's alive... and doing well. She said she must have a 'guardian angel' because every time she runs out of work, some magazine or publisher calls..."

Finch allowed himself a small smile, knowing that Reese was too sharp to consider that a mere coincidence, but kept his eyes fixed on the window.

"So your plan worked," Reese continued. "You succeeded in keeping her safe. And for that, I envy you."

In shock, Finch's eyes revealed more sadness than perhaps he intended to. He turned his torso to face Reese, his brilliant mind groping for something appropriate to say but coming up empty.

"I gave up the best part of my life – the right to be with Jessica, even if it was only for the short times I would be back home – but for nothing," Reese stated, his bitterness spilling into his voice. "My own worst enemy wasn't in Afghanistan or Iraq; he was right here in America. And Jessica walked right into his trap... just like a rookie soldier in a minefield. And I couldn't stop her..."

The pain in Reese's eyes was now mirrored in Finch's as the older man moved closer to him without thinking.

"You did what you thought was best, John – what you thought you had to do. It's not your fault that the outcome wasn't what you expected. There was no way for you to know what sort of man he really was, especially if Jessica _herself_ didn't know!" His brows furrowed in concern, Finch sought to reach Reese with his words. "You let her go so she could live a happy, normal life. You did the right thing – the _noble_ thing. It isn't your fault that she didn't find the happily-ever-after that you'd hoped for her."

Reese had been staring unseeingly at the building across the street for some time, but when Finch stopped, waiting for a response, he turned his gaze back to the other man.

"But what you don't understand, Finch, is that it _is_ my fault. Even though you know 'exactly everything' about me, you probably don't know what she said to me at the airport, the last time I saw her... or what I said to her. All I had to do was say three little words, and... I couldn't. I didn't have the courage to. But if I had, she would be alive today. I might not have been able to give her the happily-ever-after she deserved, but at least... she would be... _alive_..."

Reese could no longer bear to look at Finch's heartbroken face; neither could Finch reciprocate. For a long moment, both of them studied the patterns of the area rug which Finch had selected to match the couch.

"She wanted me to... ask her to wait. For me. She _wanted_ to wait for me. But I didn't let her. I pushed her away... right into the arms of that... _monster_."

"Oh, John," Finch murmured. "Don't beat yourself up over this. You can't. Jessica wouldn't want you to, either. She would want you to be... happy."

"That's what I keep telling myself," Reese replied tonelessly. "It doesn't really help, though..."

"She would be... so _proud_ of what you're doing, John. I never met her, but... I think she would be so pleased to know about the work you're doing – what you've already _accomplished_. You mustn't lose sight of that."

A wry, self-deprecating smile twisted Reese's mouth.

"Why do you think I keep doing it? It's not for the money, you know. Even if you paid me ten times as much – or only a tenth – it wouldn't make any difference."

"I know." Finch turned his face back towards the wall of windows. "It's about... being able to sleep at night."

"Exactly."

Reese shifted in his seat. There was a thought on his lips, on the tip of his tongue, and he debated whether he should set it free or entomb it in the dark recesses of his mind. After another pause, which remained unbroken by Finch, Reese drew a deep breath and released it. He had made the mistake of not speaking his mind – his heart – once before, and he was all-too-aware of the consequences of that decision; he would not make the same mistake again.

"Even if we can sleep at night, with a clean conscience... it still means we sleep alone."

Finch made a startled movement, although he tried to suppress it immediately.

"John," he began, agonizing over what he felt obligated to say, "if you want to quit – retire to someplace warm and start a new life, maybe even a family... all you have to do is ask. You've already done so much, risked so much—"

"No, Finch – that's not what I meant," Reese interrupted. "It's just that... Well, she said she'd lost you two years ago... Was that the last time you had any... 'human interaction'?"

It was an extremely personal question, and Reese knew he ran the risk of making Finch shut down altogether, but he needed to know – not just the answer to the question, which he already suspected he knew, but whether Finch was ready to discuss such matters with him at all.

Finch struggled with his answer, tempted at first to evade it and lash out with some cutting remark; however, he realized that Reese already had a fair idea as to the truth of the matter, and the effort of avoiding the truth (let alone deceiving Reese, which he had promised to never do) seemed more tedious than simply acknowledging what the other man must have guessed.

"Yes," Finch finally replied, rather curtly.

"It's been over ten years for me," Reese explained, bringing the topic back to his own lonely bed.


End file.
